La Renaissance
by satirical
Summary: The harshest and deepest scars, they both know, are inflicted by family.
1. Chapter 1

**La Renaissance**

_satirical_

---

I met him on the lake. He stood knee-deep in it, wearing expensive silk trousers, the tips of his hair skimming the surface of the clear, dark water. He stared into the water as if entranced, his brow knitted, his nostrils flaring and relaxing as he breathed.

"Would you like some help?" I asked him, drifting by on the tiny boat I'd rented from the marine shop.

"No." His reply was curt, a low growl.

Lifting my oars out of the lake, I dallied in the shade of the deeper water. My attention drifted from the yawning landscape about me to him—a white figure, standing motionless as a pillar of marble. Idly curious, I lingered far longer than I expected to; I was amazed at how he stood, waiting and immobile, something as natural and still as a birch tree, or a mountain protruding from the lake. At last I decided to leave the man standing as he was—stone-stiff, as though no care could rouse him. Ironically, after I pulled away, my paddles skimming the soft clean lake the short distance back to shore, he moved.

In a dipping stroke, so fast it resembled a gold-violet blur in the afternoon sun, he reached into the water and pulled out a long rope of ivy and metal cord, heavy enough to sink down to the lake floor, light enough to have drifted under the water for days, like a scuttling crab—a gliding eel.

He pulled the cord out of the water, hefting the rope into his hands, winding it about his wet sleeves, gripping it in his dripping palms. Then he started retreating toward the shore, gritting his teeth, sweating, silently pulling the taut rope from the lake.

By now, I had stepped onto the dock and secured my little boat. There I gazed back at him pulling the cord out of the water, stepping arduous back toward shore, his body angled at such a degree that, if he wished, he could've tip his head back to see his destination. And his hair, his pristine, white hair—so long it resembled nothing so much as a silk screen—was trailing in the water, lit all-colors by the disappearing sun and lake reflections.

His objective emerged with each excruciating reposition. At first the surface of the water began to shift, turning dark with the cord's disturbance. Then what he was pulling began to ascend out of the lake to meet the man.

Dirty, matted fir. Soil washed away by the water.

By the time the drenched man reached shore, pale with exertion, it became apparent what it was. He had been wrenching a massive dog—or, rather, the corpse of a massive dog—out from where the walls of sand had encased it. He pulled the limp corpse halfway out of the lapping water until, reaching the shore, he slumped down and let the rope fall out of his hands.

Then he stared at the carcass, stared in calm anguish as though it were his soul lying there, bloated and lifeless, half submerged by the lake.

---

This morning, I woke at my leisure. In the endlessly bright sky, a sliver of cloud sprawled, the wispy false start of an intentioned storm. The cottage is small and sweet, like bluebells.

I wasn't convinced at first, but now I think this respite will do me good.

That man—Sesshoumaru—buried his dog yesterday. He had been to town last week, and his brother, in his haste to go back to Tokyo, left the cabin five days early and forgot to care for the dog. It was an accident that the animal died, either that or an example of blatant negligence. Nonetheless, Kagura told me he won't press charges. There's some family secrets long buried between those two that will remain hidden for now, she said.

The doctor comes by every three days to check on my recovery. I wouldn't care to enumerate everything he examines, since he stays for two hours or more regardless of my condition. I believe I am doing well, since I was able to row on the lake for an hour and a half that last time. Still, Dr. Suikotsu was apprehensive of a repeat outing, and told me to walk no further than the lodge on good days, and no further than the gardens if I'm feeling weak.

There are vines crawling up the trellis outside, lovely big-leafed vines that sprout little yellow and white flowers in the spring. That's what Kagura tells me, because she's stayed in the cottage herself a few times.

This year, she's spending a little more to live in the lodge; "more people, more thrill." I'm glad it takes twenty minutes to get from here to the lodge; the sounds of their midnight revelry are dampened by the trees and gates between all those cheerful, lively people and myself. Here, I can rest in peace.

---

It's no surprise death has been on my mind lately. After the experience I've had, it can't surprise anyone that I think about death.

What would have happened if I had died?

To be restored to the living, back into a cherishing family circle, a renewal of old friendships, and the arms of love—that's something worth celebrating. Is there any other happiness to be found when you've beaten death? But, for all intents and purposes, it seems I have already passed away from my old life—and with that death went all the love of my family and the company of my friends. They were dumbfounded, every single one of them, when I emerged from the illness still lucid; or, at least, _I_ know I'm still lucid—_they_ seem to have a hard time believing it.

To come back to a world where you've been declared legally dead for seven months is to be reborn into a new life; where was I to fit in among all the old places now—where was a half-mad invalid to go? What was she to do?

When my body gave up on me, so did the Kikyou of that old life. Without the people I once was surrounded by, the house I once lived in, and the health I once took for granted, I can't be the person I was then—but if I'm not that Kikyou, who am I, really?

---

I placed flowers on the deceased dog's grave this morning. A simple wooden plaque stood in front of his burial mound. It carried a date, but no name.

Did the dog lose his name when he drowned? Or was his name insignificant? Would it be easier for his owner to forget him when that name is gone? Or had he never had a name? Then who was this dog—and how had he lived?

To be nameless is the most profound tragedy that comes with dying.

---

I've asked so many rhetorical questions in the last few days; reading them makes my head spin, and I can almost see Dr. Suikotsu gently admonishing me with a quiet shake of his head. He's a nice man… artless and genuine, but I wonder sometimes if being nice gets him anywhere other than a general physician's post in an out-of-the-way retreat—this being, obviously, the backwoods of civilization.

Kagura came for tea today; she makes weekly trips from the lodge to bring fresh fruit and other foodstuffs, which she says she does as a favor for the proprietor. She stayed a while, chatted over scones and the boiling kettle. Her voice would be melodious, if it weren't so bored, so sardonic. Even though what she says is nice enough, she can't foster any more than a disinterested drawl when she speaks about it, with that hard-crusted sarcasm she likes so much.

Lady Rumor wears Kagura's face when she's out and about on the winds of gossip. (A wry smile lances my face as I write this.) She always has new trivialities to update me on every time she comes.

"There's a newcomer in town," she said, unloading apricot jam from her basket. The jam is homemade by the 'chefs' at the lodge. The food there is passable, I suppose. Kagura works part-time as a factotum (though she'd call herself something entirely different), and therefore has access to most of the food there. "Miroku, from down south. They say he's about to marry a pretty little exterminator, but needs a week or two off before he can fully commit himself to the old marriage-shackle."

Like usual, I say nothing in reply. What can I say?

"It's too bad I'm leaving in a couple days. Autumn season starts next week, and I gotta get back to my day-job, ugh. How long are you here?"

I hesitated, careful not to look up from the mug of tea I was pouring. "Until I get better," I said ambiguously.

If Kagura has one virtue, it's her essential egotism. Where another woman would have inquired about my illness or poked into my past, Kagura heard the information and didn't ask more—I gave her a tidied and brief reason for my stay, an explanation as dry as possible, and she wisely did not read scandal between the lines I gave her. A quiet young woman like myself couldn't have any scandal lurking behind her, hovering over her shoulder like a malignant angel. No, this girl wasn't good gossip material, not when there were adulterous managers and former prison warders prowling the lodge, on hand for no-strings-attached flirting with Miss Kagura.

She kept talking in her usual sarcastic way. "You needn't miss me too much, Kikyou. I'll be back for the winter holidays—if you're still here by then. When I'm gone, someone else will bring your groceries, depending on who's available at the lodge. Maybe they'll all traipse down here some time, all the residents. They're all cultish up there—they like each other so much, one couple's practically living together after their stay ends…"

Kagura left soon after, promising in her insincere way to meet me before she left. She speaks carelessly, dropping promises like breadcrumbs, quickly forgotten or gobble up by magpies as she wanders back through the forest.

---

This house has one attribute that lifts my spirits, and that's the library. Whereas you wouldn't think there'd be a library in this cramped, quaint little cottage, on the second floor there are two rooms—a tiny, disused bedroom, and a larger room crammed with bookshelves. It's quite lovely to look at, but unfortunately I can't stay there very long. It's shut in—the windows are sealed closed—and musty, and sometimes there's the smell of lingering smoke. (The last occupant was a cigar enthusiast, I gathered.)

Yet it's much better than nothing.

---

It never seems to rain here.

---

Looking to take advantage of the weather, I tried to brave the walk to the lake. Typically I go by way of the lodge, but I'd heard of a shortcut along the country road, so I went that way, mindful of the doctor's concerns. The less exertion I suffered, the happier (and quieter) he'd be.

To reach the paved road (a byway that stemmed from Route 44, the main artery, through the mountain pass), I had to cut through a grove of sycamores and evergreens. The going there was flat, the grass dry from a week without rain; it was easy, as far as the exertion went. But, luck working against me as it always did, I found that the uneven trail to the byway curved upward, and eventually I was climbing up a rutted, steep hill. The brambles scratched at my clothes, and by the time I was at its peak, my heart was hammering so heavily I could hear it thudding a rapid staccato in my ears.

I then headed downhill, to where the slope joined with the embankment of the byway. I could see the asphalt by then, gray and smooth and inviting. But as I was going down, I slipped and stumbled, rolling halfway down the hill and landing ungracefully on my side.

Too exhausted by then to do more than push myself to a sitting position, I didn't hear—or, more accurately, I heard, but didn't register—the rumbling sound of a coming vehicle. By the time the wheels pulled up next to me, I thought I wouldn't be seen, because I was half-lying nearly a meter from the surface of the road, right where the embankment of the byway met the end of the perverse slope I'd fallen from. The rider had apparently noticed me, and he got off to help me up.

Well, I was embarrassed. Obviously.

My face so hot from feeling my own stupidity, I nearly didn't realize he was asking me for where I was headed, and whether I needed a lift. I told him that I thought I was going to head down toward the lake, but now I'd rather just go back home.

"Where do you live? I'll take you there."

I glanced. The young man, not much taller than me, had on a billowing red jacket and a black riding helmet. He'd arrived here on a moped, headed toward the general direction of the lodge and the lake. His voice was young, and somehow suffused with naïveté. I'm not used to accepting favors from friends, not to mention strangers, but—tired and bruised—I asked him to take me to a small parking lot within walking distance of the cottage. He seemed friendly, after all.

It turned out that the young man was the motor-specialist of the lodge. He told me to call him Inuyasha, and asked me about my cottage—whether it was Haresnest, Mapleshade, or Larkhaven. My face hidden between his shoulder-blades as his coat billowed and flickered back and forth, sounding for all the world like flapping wings, I wondered whether it was a piece of providence or ill luck that had me tumble at this young man's feet.

He insisted on helping me the rest of the way back to my cottage, and though he was occasionally unruly in the way adolescents often are, he was also chivalrous. His essential innocence struck me, as I thanked him at the door of my cottage. He promised to check on me and gave me his pager number in case I wanted to take a ride down to the lake.

We talked. There was something in the way we talked that stirred recollections of life _before_. Something in his gaze that was evocative of another man, a more broken one. It was one of those slippery memories, half-recalled, that glance by conscious thought and then dissipates. I spent a few minutes wondering what it was I was trying to remember, then giving up in frustration. Inuyasha had an easygoing way of commanding my attention.

As he left, I wondered if we had been flirting.

---

I haven't written in two weeks. There wasn't anything to write about until now, because life just goes on. Kohaku, a boy—thirteen, freckled, and gangly as a colt—comes with my groceries now, and sometimes Inuyasha comes with him. We converse, but it's usually pleasant nothings. There was never any tension after that first day. I think I avoid it. I'm not sure why.

I saw that man again. Sesshoumaru.

He stood with Inuyasha in the sycamore clearing, looking as though they had been plucked straight out of ancient historical annals. They wore loose robes, and had their hands and legs bound by gauze. I startled when my eye caught the gleam of two ancient swords, each brandished by a wielder. They're brothers. Inuyasha told me today, after I interrupted their practice. The sight of those two—pale hair and tempered metal glinting in harmonious intent—brought a slow churn in my abdomen, a churn like reanimation.

Sesshoumaru saw me first; his eyes flickered, but there was otherwise no change in his stance. He continued as before, delivering each blow precisely.

The sound of swords striking each other is sharp and thrilling, like a metal chill coming down my spine. They parried and feinted in utter elegance at first, in routine motions of give and take. Then, as they switched orientations, Inuyasha noticed me standing by the entrance of the clearing, and with a soft chuckle, pressed on his brother. His attack came quicker and wilder, his sword flashing in the light until it became almost unbearable to look at. Yet the beat of the kissing blades never faltered—it only grew faster as Inuyasha became more frenzied.

Sesshoumaru matched him with a slow increase of speed and power in his own attack. When Inuyasha reached to score a point on his brother's arm, Sesshoumaru swerved away, his long hair taking the attack instead. A long pale lock fell.

Without warning, Sesshoumaru was on top of his brother, and Inuyasha giving ground, teeth clenched. The ring of the swords, the near-silent exertion of the brothers—they remain with me even now. Behind my eyes, I can see them dancing that lethal duet, pushing and pulling against each other like two natural disasters colliding.

The fight crescendoed. Cuts and nicks appeared on each brother. The rhythm of the swords faltered, though it sped up. Finally, with a careful turn of the wrist, Sesshoumaru disarmed his brother. Inuyasha's sword glided through the air like a toppling top spinning about its axis and landed, a soft glint in the verdant grass.

Sesshoumaru aimed the tip of his sword at his brother's neck. For a moment, there they hovered, and the clearing was in absolute silence. Then he drew away his sword and carefully wiped it with a special cloth. "Better," he said. "You would have done well, had you not been a testosterone-heavy fool."

Inuyasha grinned mirthlessly. "Bastard. Let me introduce you to Kikyou."

Where Inuyasha is simplicity wrapped up under a defensive, aggressive sheen, Sesshoumaru is proud belligerence through and through. He barely gave me a look and a disdainful sniff before sheathing his sword, and didn't bother to greet me. I didn't mind; I was nobody, after all, and I kept looking after him as he left us. There was something mesmerizing about his walk, the very smooth stride of certainty. Inuyasha noticed me observing him from the corner of my eye and, self-conscious, told me that he was always rude like that.

He retrieved the sword and wiped it down using the corner of his shirt. "You should come by the lodge more, Kikyou. There are people there I think you'd like."

"Perhaps," I said, not willing to reject Inuyasha outright.

"These new girls turned up, for the usual reasons. Turns out, one of them is about to marry another guy here, Miroku, and flipped out when she saw him flirting with Yura the lounge singer. The other one, her friend, helped calm her down, but right now the lodge is kinda awkward. You should come by when it's settled."

"From the looks of it, 'it' won't be settled for a long while."

Inuyasha shrugged, his muscular shoulders rolling. "Well, the new girl—not the one who's marrying Miroku, no, her friend—is pretty good at getting people to chill. Her name is Kagome. Hey, come to think of it, she looks a little like you."

The world drew to a tiny din, and, for a moment, all thought fled my mind. Kagome—Kagome, my twin sister. Raised by my father when my parents divorced. Cute, lovable Kagome. The only one who came to see me after I woke up, even though it was a trial and I could see her reluctance in her face and hear it in her speech. I didn't know anything could be worse than abandonment by my family and friends—until Kagome started visiting every week.

Had she found me? No—I'd told almost no one I was going. It was only one giant coincidence, a stroke of serendipity, that's landed her here with me.

Despite my qualms about lying to my friends, I told Inuyasha that—as much as I'd like to go to the lodge—I felt much too weak to risk going there and back. I preferred the quiet of my cottage (that much was true). I asked him not to bring them to my cottage, and trusted in his forgetfulness to omit my presence at the retreat to Kagome.

Sesshoumaru had not quite left yet, though he was out of earshot. At a harsh call from him, Inuyasha started to turn back. We exchanged amicable goodbyes, though he looked at me doubtfully. Then I watched the two brothers leave, walking uphill toward the direction of the lodge, their hair glinting pale streaks of silver between the trees.

I hope—pray, really—that Kagome never discovers me.


	2. Chapter 2

My wish was made in vain. Within a week, Kagome was rapping politely at my door. Spotting her through the spyhole, I underwent two minutes of delirious indecision before finally letting her in. The door swung open.

It caught her in mid-rap. She froze, her hand still hovering in the air, and she stared at me. Really stared. Maybe she'd hoped that I wouldn't open the door—that I would pretend she hadn't come, and thereby save both of us from a nasty confrontation. I notice how her face fell when I stepped into the doorway, fixing my arms across my chest defensively. We waited in dreadful silence there, two sisters reunited, unable to find anything to say to each other.

"I… I brought you some coffee cake," she opened at last, snapping her gaze away from mine. "From the lodge. Of course. I can't cook. Ha! You knew that, why did I have to tell you?" she laughed uncomfortably and then turned as if to go.

"You can put it on the counter," I said. The offer was merely courtesy, but she turned and let loose all her tension in a giant sigh, as if I had waved a white flag at her. "Don't think this means that we're friends, though."

Kagome shook her head vehemently. "No. Of course not." She edged past me, being careful not to look like she was studying the place where her invalid sister lived. The invalid sister who she didn't want to know, and who didn't want to know her, the one fate had perversely tossed straight into her path once again.

She sat down at the counter without waiting for me to invite her, and then got up again, her face a portrait of guilt. Kagome never did know her boundaries, I thought, taking a distasteful look at the coffee cake. Neither of us wanted this to drag out too long, so I cut to the chase. "Did Inuyasha tell you?"

"Oh? You know Inuyasha that well?" she asked warily. There was something evasive about her now—she watched me in suspicion, as if afraid I would contaminate Inuyasha with my fatal stench just by talking to him.

"Yes."

"He's… I… No, it wasn't Inuyasha. It was actually his brother."

That gave me pause. "Sesshoumaru? _What_?"

"Yeah. Well, kind of. I overheard him."

"Eavesdropping again, little sister?" I asked coldly.

"No! Hey! I wasn't eavesdropping—I happened to be walking by. He was talking to the receptionist about something in your cabin, and he happened to mention your name."

"And you immediately knew it was me, and not any other Kikyou who might be living in Japan?"



"I knew. I had a feeling. Don't look at me like that!" Kagome bristled. We had always had a difficult time with each other—a relationship bound by misunderstanding and punctuated with jealousy. "This is going all wrong. I'm here to ask _you_ why _you_ didn't come see me! Inuyasha said you knew all along I was here!"

"Oh. So Inuyasha did tell you."

"No, don't… Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall, Kikyou. I overheard Sesshoumaru and went to ask Inuyasha, you know, to find out whether or not it was you. He said he mentioned me to you, and you never said anything about being _sisters._"

"Uhhuh. And when you found it was, how did you feel, little sister? Surprised? Betrayed? Relieved? Or all of the above?"

When she said nothing, only bit her lip and fiddled with her fingers, I knew I had hit home. What I didn't expect to see were tears in her eyes when she looked up at me. Knowing her as I did, I should have been prepared for the flood of emotion that followed. One of the things that most irks me about Kagome is her lack of self-control; she always bursts out with whatever is on her mind, particularly in distress, where a more considerate person would keep her emotions in check until she was alone.

"Look. I know you hate me. I know that you resent people who never had to go through what you did, who live their lives opening chances for happiness in their lives. I know you feel like we abandoned you. But we thought you were gone! And I, for one, will not keep myself miserable just so you can have company! I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, and I'm sorry everyone left you, but you're alive now! Can't you take this chance, seize it, and try—just try—to be happy?"

I couldn't help myself—I laughed. It was harsh and devoid of any real hilarity.

"Did you just lecture me on being happy? When did I _ever_ ask for your company? You don't seem to understand me when I've said, again and again, I don't like you and I don't choose to associate with you."

Kagome's nose was at the point of resembling that of a famous reindeer. "You don't have to like me. But you shouldn't hole yourself up here and pretend there isn't an outside world. You're never going to be happy if you keep yourself away from other people."

"Kagome, you don't know the first thing about me. You have never wanted to know anything about me—you thought it was your duty to be close to your sister those first few years, and that was the only reason you ever spoke to me. Afterward, you thought it was your duty to sit by my side as I regained use of my limbs. If it had been anyone else, I would have thanked her. But it was you—and do you know why I will never thank you for wasting your time by my bed?"

"Because you hate me."

"No. It's because _you_ hate _me._"



Aghast, my sister cried, "I do not!"

"Did you think I didn't notice your expressions of suffering? You didn't want to be there—you forced yourself nonetheless not because you liked me, or because of genuine pity, but because of our blood-ties, on which you attached some sort of significance—that because we were born of the same womb you had to be there for me. If I got better, it was a relief not because you thought I would regain my life, or start a new one—you were glad because you could get back to _your_ life."

I cut off her outburst before it could begin, digging my hands into the counter and preparing to shove the truest, most painful fact about our relationship out in words. In any other instance, I wouldn't have jettisoned all these harsh realities on her, but I had had enough of Kagome-the-martyr.

"If I had been someone else, I know it would have been easier on both of us. You would find some sort of satisfaction in being by the side of a recovering patient, and I would have drawn on your emotional strength or some cliché like that. But we were sisters, and our relationship was comprised of resentment, not caring, and not only did you hate spending that time with me, you were also guilty hating it."

Another thing I detest about Kagome is how much she really is like me, in the end. When her flaccid tears provoked nothing but spite, she steeled her spine and flung my weapons right back at me.

"You act like you know everything, Kikyou. You've always done that, ever since we were kids, and you looked down your nose on everything I liked, as if your opinions were somehow so much better than mine. You never liked me; you thought I was beneath you—so how was I supposed to enjoy spending time with you when you never so much as smiled at me? You pushed me away from the very beginning; you pushed everyone away—that's why Mom left you there, because she knew you didn't want her by your side either. At least I stayed; at least I had the moral fiber for it."

"Moral fiber."

"Yes. Moral fiber. I'm a nicer person than you are, Kikyou, because I actually think about other people and their feelings."

"I never asked for people to meddle with my feelings, and I stay out of theirs. You, on the other hand, mistake intrusive behavior for compassion."

Kagome had nothing to say to that; she stiffened, turning her cheek away so I wouldn't catch her look of anguish and real hurt. I saw it, though, and felt satisfied.

"Look, I didn't come here to argue with you," said Kagome with her eyes downcast. "I gave you the cake, I wanted to make peace; now I see that peace is pretty much impossible, and I'm alright. If you… well, you know where to find me." With some measure of self-possession, she let herself out. I waited at the counter, listening to the distant sound of her walking away. When I could no longer hear her, I took the coffee cake and tossed it, ceramic plate and all, into the trash bin.

I don't need her pity.



--

Inuyasha asked me to go with him to a boating party on the lake. At first I was ambivalent; I wanted to spend time with Inuyasha, but I dreaded seeing Kagome all the same. The good doctor looked at me in concern when I mentioned it to him, but didn't prohibit my going. "It may even build up your endurance," he said lightly.

I'm not sure what possessed me to say yes. Maybe I imagined something in his voice. Anyway, it was a dumb decision; I found myself sitting at the prow of a long yacht, gazing down at the sharp angle the boat made cutting the pond. As the dock receded, I gazed long and hard over my shoulder at Kagome. She and Inuyasha were engrossed in each other, teasing and toying. At one point she made to shove him over the side of the boat, and he only laughed and jumped out of arm's reach.

Yes, I have to admit, I was disappointed.

The other lodgers were somewhere in the back of the boat. Miroku and his girlfriend stood at the wheel, arms nestled snugly around each other.

And Sesshoumaru. He leant against the shady side of the cabin with a small bottle of cognac uncapped in his hand, pointedly not looking at Inuyasha. Or, I realized dully, pointedly not looking at Kagome. Typical.

The natural beauty of this retreat should have been breathtaking, but I was breathing quite normally today and even the unreal landscape could not seduce me away from my thoughts. I wished that I had not come at all.

"I'm glad you took her advice."

Miroku's girlfriend was speaking to me, having pried herself away from her lothario lover and coming over by my side, towering over me. She was tall, she wore her hair in a high ponytail, and she was bony enough to appear tomboyish. Her head blocked out the sun, shading most of her features into darkness.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm Sango," she said, her hand held out to me. I didn't take it. "Kagome said that she asked you to come out more often, and I'm glad you took her advice."

"You think I'm here because of something that Kagome said to me?" I said incredulously.

Sango took a step back, and her genial demeanor vanished.

"You could be a little nicer to her, you know. At least she cares."

"I'm not sure this is any of your business," I said, my tone stony.



"I'm her best friend. Of course it's my business." Sango crossed her tanned arms across her chest; she gave off the impression of stringiness, as if she'd been left out in the sun too long. "You know, I didn't think you could be quite as bitchy as Kagome says—but thanks for proving me wrong."

I ignored her comment. Miroku came up behind her, laughing awkwardly. "Whoa, girls—where's the fire?" Over his shoulder, I could see Kagome and Inuyasha slowly turning toward us in concern. They were rising from their seats. I didn't want to deal with Kagome, so I got up, flipping my long ponytail behind me.

"I was just leaving," I said.

Kagome was almost on me; I ducked into the cabin of the yacht and closed the door behind me. Kagome took the hint and instead approached Sango. Inuyasha, on the other hand, followed me in, leaving the door wide open. He was so dense sometimes.

"Hey, Kikyou. Are you ok?"

"Inuyasha, I don't want to talk about it." I found some cranberry juice behind the minibar and poured it into a long glass.

"I know there are issues with you and Kagome, but maybe you should give— Look. You'll have to deal with this at some time."

"And what about you and your issues? Inuyasha, I'm afraid you have no right to come bother me about this—it's unbelievably hypocritical."

"That's right, brother," Sesshoumaru said softly. He was now standing in the doorway, his stare searing into Inuyasha. The duo sustained a moment of silent animosity sparking between them before Sesshoumaru finally turned away. The older brother came behind the bar and sniffed at my drink. He pulled out a frosted bottle of vodka and set it next to the juice. He still addressed only Inuyasha. "What were you thinking, inviting both the sisters on the same date?"

"It's not a date!" denied Inuyasha. My eyes widened. A date? Was that really what this was?

Well, why wouldn't it be? When I didn't want to see something, I thought to myself, I really don't see it. Of course this was a date—not a date with me, but a date with Kagome. He probably invited me only because she pressed him to.

"Fool," scoffed Sesshoumaru. He tipped some vodka into another empty glass and, without waiting for my assent, some into my juice.

"Look, I asked Kagome here because she's cool, and I invited Kikyou because I thought she'd have a good time. Don't jump to conclusions, jerkass."

My heart dropped, barreling into my stomach and tumbling around near my kidneys. _He thinks Kagome is _cool_? And that I'd have a _good time_ watching him flirt with my sister?_

"Shut up before you dig yourself into a bigger hole, little brother. You might also want to try thinking some, it may actually help you." Scorn transforms Sesshoumaru into something fearsome.

At this he finally looks at me, at my skin, at my hairline, at my eyes. I'm struck by his dearth of emotion; he's completely analytical, observant and reactionless under his long pale lashes. Another person would've fidgeted under that level stare. Somehow, I felt calmer—all time seems suspended somehow, and even my heart rate slows. He pauses for a long moment. Then he strides out with his glass in hand, that stoic demeanor never slipper.

"Melodramatic bullshit," Inuyasha muttered. He tried to say something to me, rubbing at his neck and opening his mouth in a fishlike motion, but he couldn't seem to find the words. Finally he slumped out, retreating back to Kagome.

I stayed in the cabin; it was small, but plush, and a good place to be alone. The spiked cranberry juice was a shock to the system at first, when the alcohol hit. Soon, though, I was buzzing with smiles. Inuyasha slipped from my mind, and even when I remembered—in moments when he strode across the yacht with his arm slung casually around Kagome's waist—there was always more juice and vodka to be found.

My recollection of what happened next is not perfect. I felt a little sick, and Kohaku was entering the cabin. He saw me, said something garbled, and put down a bucket he'd been carrying. If I were to extrapolate, I suppose he was about to take away my glass. But Miroku and Sango came in the cabin, all tangled up around each other, and I pushed out.

The boat rocked too much under me. Inuyasha guided the wheel up front; I was about to ask him to keep the yacht steady when he yanked leisurely on the steering wheel, spinning the boat in a totally different direction. The yacht creaked, Kagome shrieked with laughter, and I fell into the water.

Drunk and weak, I struggled to keep my head over the surface, but the churning of the boat's engine kept the washing the water over my face. Each breath was less steady than the last; my heart was roaring in my ears, and I had an insane desire to laugh. I drew a last sputtering gasp of air to do exactly that, and forced out a wet cackle.

What a wonderful way to finally die, I was thinking. Again.

I had half-closed my eyes and let myself sink into the bottom of the shimmering lake when a steely arm wrapped around my waist. Suddenly, the cool morning air hit me, and I could hear the dim rumble of the boat. Someone was calling out in distress. I realized it was Kagome—her shrillness made me want to vomit.

All the while, I was being carried toward the yacht, a long body swimming underneath mine. My rescuer, I thought with a mental sigh. Fuck him.

They tried CPR on me. I coughed up some water, but I hadn't been really at the point of death yet; with a feeble hand I tried to push whoever was pushing down on my chest away. I didn't need them. What I needed were a few moments of silence—which I obviously was never going to get.

I waited a long time to open my eyes. Inuyasha's face was the first I saw. He was dripping.

He cradled my head in his lap; he seemed even on the verge of tears, or maybe it was just the lake water running all down his face. I looked around—everyone was crowded about me, looks of shock and worry written all over their features. None of them were as sopping wet as either I or Inuyasha.

"Did… did you save me?" I croaked out.

He nodded. "Dammit, Kikyou, if you had drowned…"

I couldn't thank him. I guess they were all waiting for it, but they shouldn't have held their breath.

I saw Sango recoil first and walk away, knowing that I wasn't going to express any gratitude for living. Miroku left with her. The other tenants watched me curiously, but at a sharpbark from Inuyasha they shrunk away, giving me space to breathe. Only Kagome stayed, her concern wavering between Inuyasha and me. "I only… have one towel," she said hesitantly. She held out a fluffy white mess that she had obviously taken from the bathroom. "It's kinda small."

"It's ok," Inuyasha said. He took it from her and wiped my face first, then my hair.

I wanted (I tried) to push away from him, but I felt so helpless lying there. It was still difficult to wrap my head around the fact that _Inuyasha _had dove after me. He was obviously infatuated with my sister. But he was also the only one to save me.

I couldn't renounce him as a friend. No, I didn't want to be saved—but it was good of him, nonetheless.

He was the only one—but how had he—and now he was treating me so—

My head pounded. I tried to look at him again, but the world was spinning, and I had to close my eyes and remember to breathe.

"Be careful that she doesn't go unconscious," said a voice cold as liquid nitrogen. "We're headed back to the lodge at full speed."

--

"Trouble can't get enough of you, Kikyou." Dr. Suikotsu fixed a wan smile on me. "Are you feeling any better? Very, very little water got into your lungs, thank god for the quick rescue; you seem to have spat it all out, as well. Since they were able to keep you conscious, I think you had a really narrow shave. It could have been much worse—though drinking all that alcohol didn't help, either."

The doctor took my hand in his own. In the corner, Sesshoumaru raised his eyebrows, his lips quirking.

"You should stay in bed, and away from water. Sesshoumaru has arranged for you to move here, into the lodge, so that you can have someone keeping an eye on you for the next two or three weeks."

Suikotsu must have sensed my panic at this; he patted my hand reassuringly. "It's only until I deem that you are healthy and strong enough to come back on your own, and knowing that you prefer time alone, Sesshoumaru has graciously given you the least occupied corridor and provided for you to be able to retreat from other people whenever you'd like. You'll have the entire staff helping you out, and I'll be able to come see you more often as well."

I tried not to look appalled, but apparently didn't succeed; Sesshoumaru made a strangled sound that almost resembled a snicker.

"Inuyasha is right outside, and he'd like to talk to you. I'm going to let him in now, alright?"

I shook my head.

"No. Not now. I'm tired."

Suikotsu nodded. "I'll be back with dinner in a couple hours; is it alright if he talks with you then?"

"Yeah."

The doctor squeezed my hand. He gestured to Sesshoumaru as he rose; the two men left the room.

I turned over after the door had closed behind them, resting my head against the thin pillow and resenting the mealy dread in my stomach. I longed for Sleep, and fell blissfully into Her arms.


End file.
